


turns to daylight

by karnsteins



Category: The Outsiders - All Media Types
Genre: Canon didn't happen, M/M, Ponyboy is 16 here, and Ponyboy has glasses, more of a mood piece and character study than anything?, there's only one bed, you know what that means
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:29:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26450059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karnsteins/pseuds/karnsteins
Summary: it's supposed to be a trip to oklahoma city in pursuit of a book. it isn't just that.
Relationships: Ponyboy Curtis/Dallas Winston
Comments: 4
Kudos: 33





	1. there's an open door

i. 

the way he looks as the sunlight pours into the car, making his hair turn from brown to red is something that you will keep to yourself. it suits him, the way the light bears down on him, the way the flannel turns from yellow to a more burnished gold. the way the glasses sit on his face, they fit him as you and him talk about the songs on the radio. 

it's just a day trip to oklahoma city, taken because there's no one else to take him and out of all people, ponyboy curtis will get out of tulsa. he'll go to college, he'll make something a little more of himself and you're not one to get in the way of that. too, you admit, that you like the company. as the years have gone by, he's less afraid to say what he wants to, comes out of his head more often than not now around you.

you like it. he's the only person besides johnny cade that you'll take it from, and he's learning to give it back to you in fits and starts. you don't understand him at times, and you still don't entirely know if you ever will or if he ever will. 

it's a sunday afternoon, spent on the road and in sunlight. 

ii.

sylvia and you used to dance around each other. it felt like both of you were holding a knife, aimed at each other. you took turns, you hurting her, she hurting you. you liked the hurt, the dance of it all. it's supposed to hurt, you both thought as much. 

iii. 

he forgets things often. forgets his library card, forgets his jacket, forgets where he's supposed to be and who. over time you remember for him: you remember to give him your jacket, you swipe soda's library card to give to him, you show up at the right time to walk him to where he wants to go. sometimes you say: i'm doing this to help them all out, keep them all together. sometimes you say: i'm doing this because it amuses me, because i want to.

you can lie to other people. you can't lie to yourself very long. 

iv. 

he has long fingers, flicking the catalog cards in the library. he should've asked for help from a librarian, but he's a greaser like anyone else. asking for help just isn't the first thing he'll do, and you understand it. the frustration on his face as he flicks through them is funny, and when he looks like he might buckle, you shove him over. 

you can tell that he's shocked when you find the card before he does, and while you might let the other guys wonder about it, it doesn't feel like you're giving over a part of yourself unwillingly when you tell him that in the cooler, when there isn't anything to do, reading is there. it's not something done out of fun, and you tell him that in so many words. 

he still looks pleased to know, and you know that this is opening a door that you probably shouldn't. 

you also feel as if this is a natural thing, that you're willing to open the door to him in this instance. 

so you spend a longer time in the library with him. you let the day wind out, picking up more than he asked for, humoring him as you do it. 

v. 

she never said i love you. neither did you. it was immaterial, not the focus. even when you handed over your ring to her, you knew that if time ran down, she'd go find another guy to fuck. she knew that if it took too long, you'd leave her too, cold. 

it was just like that between you both. you don't know how to be anyone or anything else. 

being vulnerable with her wasn't an option. it was a weapon to be used in the future, and so were those three words. there wasn't a real tenderness between you, only imitations of intimacy with few real moments of it exchanged.

vi. 

learning to be a part of them, it wasn't exactly tenderness to be part of a gang. you would never use that word. it still took time, caring between them all. at one point or another, you've lashed out at them, gotten angry. shoved, yelled, hit. it's an understanding that you have always had with other people: you will care about them, but eventually, you'll sink your teeth into them, you'll make them pay for knowing you. they'll hurt for every moment of kindness they've shown you, at some point because that's how it was. always would be. tenderness, kindness, love was never, ever free.

there have only ever been two exceptions to that. one came more naturally than the other, yet they are there. 

vii. 

you spend so long at the library that by the time you pull on the main road to go back to tulsa, it's not possible to get back before sun down -- and the accident ahead makes it worse. you juggle the idea and decide that it's better to stay in town, have a stay at a motel than to try to head back in the dead of night. it takes one phone call to relate it to darry, and ponyboy seems interested in spending a little more time in oklahoma city. 

it's not like tulsa of course. you have to find a new way to sneak into the theaters here, which makes it all the more fun to hop the fence. you and he joke about it, sneaking into the back to watch the movie together. 

there's not much watching; the movie's almost too dull to watch so you both spend time being nuisances instead, making fun of the movie, exchanging words with the other greasers you find. some of them recognize you, most of them don't. 

it's more you needling up the others, really. it's what you do, needle and prod, and provoke. you think you might even be up for a fight until the staff enter the theater. 

then his hand is in your jacket, and then you're both running out, laughing in the night air. for a shy kid, the moments where he loosens up, laughs with you are always something to remember, to keep.

viii.

booking a motel is easy, with beers and burgers, and books. you still aren't all that interested in reading what he has, but all it takes is one ask for him and you roll your eyes. you lean back, drink, and he begins to read in the motel room. 

his voice is steady, nice. his thumb comes up occasionally to push up his glasses up his nose, the flannel now gone, now just in the black shirt he'd worn and jeans. he'd forgotten socks that morning, feet curled up almost at his knees as he reads. the way his mouth move, the way his fingers turn the pages is mesmerizing. 

this moment is for the both of you only. it's a moment you'd never have with anyone else, and you can't think of anyone else you'd want to have this moment with. 

for a moment you think if you ever wanted something like this with sylvia. the answer is an immediate: no. no you hadn't. 

the honesty sears you. it makes your fingers jump, makes you want to reach out, throw the book away from him and-- 

and you're not sure. you don't want to get arrested here, you don't want to fight him but you don't know what to _do_ when the realization makes itself so clear to you.

ix.

years ago, they'd come to you in buck's. johnny had been stabbed, and ponyboy had barely been hanging on when you'd taken them to the hospital. you remembered ponyboy telling you that they'd both tried to save another greaser from the soc's, that it had been johnny who had tried to save them first. that they'd both gone all in, trying to help and now one of them was dying and the other couldn't do anything except beg to help.

of course, you did everything you could. 

you'd told ponyboy, white knuckling the wheel, that it was going to kill him if he did something like this, you'd told them both that they had to toughen up, be more like you. that doing this sort of thing would get them killed if they didn't look out for themselves and no one else. 

you'd said it at a moment you thought johnny was on the verge of dying. you only said it for ponyboy to hear, cradling johnny's form in the backseat. he had seemed shocked, out of it then. the bruises on his face were worse than you'd ever seen, face cut up in places, trembling as he tried to stifle the blood.

that drive, that wait for johnny had been grueling. ponyboy had never looked so pale, you never felt so angry. angry at johnny for having the guts at the wrong time. angry at ponyboy for following him without question. angry at the possibility they'd die that night, leaving… 

leaving what?

in the hospital, you finally noticed he was shivering. remembered that he'd been dunked into water at some point during the fight. the jacket came off of you, and you'd put it on him with enough force that the zipper almost broke. he looked at you dazed, surprised that you would do this, and for a moment, your hands brushed his as you got him settled back.

you both stayed there all night. at some point, he'd fallen asleep on your shoulder, and you had let him stay there until the morning, until johnny was alright. 

x. 

you think about that night often. about what you said, that you'd never say it to anyone else, you wouldn't have begged anyone else to listen to you. you circle back to it often, wondering why you'd done that, why you had chosen him.

xi. 

you're both in the bed now. the books are on the side and you don't know what to do with the revelation you've had, still. it sits in you, malignant, heavy. you don't want to admit what you feel, you don't know how to cut it out of you, either. you don't know if you want to. 

you're dallas winston. if you want something you take it. and you don't know if you want to take him for yourself, or if you want to simply hold onto what you have. 

or you tell yourself this, between sleep and wakefulness. truthfully?

you know that you will be awake when the sun rises. you're going to look at him, at the way the sunlight hits his hair, the way it will shine on his skin. you know that you don't want what you had with sylvia, knives at the ready all the time but neither do you want something soft, kind, easy. you want him as he is, here and now and it's too much to hold. 

xii.

the sunlight hits his hair. you look at him, at the grey-green eyes he has, at the calm look on his face, at his comfort. your hand reaches up, and when he doesn't push you away, you move closer. he does too, without words. 

who kisses who isn't important. only that you two do kiss, in this motel bed, as the light seeps into the room. 

it's not gentle, but it's not rough either. it simply fits you both here and now, and that's what matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title from "prom night" by the midnight. mostly a winding road of a thing where i wanted a little moment get together vs something with big fireworks. kudos, comment, come yell at me on tumblr, i'm @traumapeaks. next part is pony's perspective.


	2. as the chorus soars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you find yourself relaxed on this unexpected trip.

i.

dallas winston has always been mean, to a point. you've seen him lash out at just about everyone, even sodapop. and yet you have always been interested in his meanness, in the way that it animated his body, in the way that it seemed magnetic in the way he could lash out with his fury, the way he wore it around him like armor, to protect against the world. 

it makes the moments where he seems softer stick out all the more, and it takes to time realize that they seem to come out around you. 

ii. 

here and now in the library, you look at him with wonder and surprise when he's able to find the book with the catalog cards before you can. you want to ask a million questions immediately, how, where, and why. 

he gives you one of those looks, that are echoes of that moment in the car when he was driving you and johnny to the hospital. it's not the same level of pinched anger or frenetic energy. it's him, seemingly, acknowledging what he's about to tell you isn't for anyone else. it makes you go still, when he tells you about reading in the cooler. it only begets more questions from you, of what he read, what he hadn't read, what he liked, what he disliked. 

the moments like these are small, and you collect them. you don't beg for them to happen; they simply do or don't. you keep them as close to your heart as you can, hoping that the rest of you doesn't betray you, how much you look forward to them, how much you need them. 

iii. 

dallas drives in a way that isn't crazy like soda's or determined like steve's. it's like he channels all that angry energy he carries with him around into something smooth, confident as he drives down the road. a few years ago, you think it might have made you sick. not now. sometimes you think he's looking at you in the corner of your eye and you put it down to wanting it rather than it simply happening. 

it's interesting to watch the way he looks with concentration at the road, at the way his hands lay on the wheel. he rarely reaches over to change the radio, and you both talk about what is on the radio and what's not available, laughing when tennessee williams comes on, taking out the time to make fun of buck and his cow pokey tastes. 

you find yourself relaxed on this unexpected trip. 

iv.

soda always said you'd grow into liking girls. you don't think so the older you get. you find yourself more entranced with dallas' sneer, with the drawl he has at times, with the way he carries himself. you know better than to speak of it to anyone, even johnny. that's the most painful part of it, not knowing what johnny would think or say and yet seeing dallas be gentler to him at times than he ever would with you. 

and yet the times when dallas shoves you, when you shove back or when you both find yourselves in languid conversations with each other, you burn for it. you want it more than you think you can hold. 

but you will. you tell yourself that you'll hold that feeling in you until you burst or it burns you right up from the inside. 

serves you right.

v.

you can't help yourself, though. you can't help but like this trip, in the library. you can't help but follow him into the city to find a place to sneak into. it's just like dallas, who never wants to follow the rules that even in a new place like this, he'll want to jump the fence and into a theater. 

you don't ever say no. you like it as you both come into the theater, already rowdy and unpleasant. you laugh, you needle a bit, and when the fuzz shows up, you get out with him. your glasses almost slip down your nose when you run with him, and the thought of how much it'd take to replace them makes sure they're square on your nose. 

when you're both walking to the hotel, food and drinks in hand, you wish for a pencil. you want to show his laugh, how he looks in moonlight. you want to capture that part of him on the page, if not for yourself, than for other people. 

this is dallas winston, to you. 

vi. 

you forget things often. you try to do better now, to not forget. dallas is still there though, covering you when you least expect it. you wonder about it, if he does this for johnny the way he does for you. you wonder if johnny _needs_ it the same way you do. 

vii.

he won't give up what he reads, and you know that he won't ever. still though, as you eat together, his leg bent up towards his chest, his fingers gripping a beer, you decide to read a bit to him what you have. 

he doesn't protest as you read out passage after passage, nodding every so often with what you're saying, almost lulled by the words. you wonder what he's thinking about as you read, as your fingers go through the pages. 

you wonder what he read at the cells. you wonder if he ever wanted to ask you about it, if he ever saw himself in the books he read. 

you think that this moment, it's a good one. he doesn't force you to stop, and he never complains about what you choose to read. 

viii.

a lot of nights, you wonder about the incident when you were fourteen. when johnny had saved the kid from the soc's who had hurt him. you think about how johnny had leapt into it, how you had followed him without thinking, trying to help. 

you still have nightmares about the stabbing, about the sound johnny made, that wet _gasp_. you still remember shouting, remember the blood on your hands, remember the soc's running off even after you had to try and drag air into your lungs. 

you remember getting to buck's. getting help from dally. 

you remember what he sounded like in the car. his voice, begging you not to do this, not to risk yourself like this, not ever. you remember how much your head hurt, how desperate it felt to hold johnny to yourself while dallas spoke in that wild voice, in a way that made your stomach turn into knots. 

you think that in the hospital when he gave you his jacket, still acting in that odd way, that's when things changed. that's when maybe you stopped being part of an outfit together and when you became something else. 

ix. 

maybe it was just you that changed, you think sometimes. you're the one that looked at him differently, you're the one that felt something crack in your chest. sometimes though, you're not so sure. you swear you notice dally coming around more. you can recall that as johnny healed, you both were at his side more often than not, sometimes the afternoons just you and him, smoking together or talking about and to johnny. (those moments where your fingers touched when exchanging cigarettes always, always stood out in your dreams) he'd been the first besides soda to not make a remark about the glasses you needed in the months after, he'd been the one coming to the house to get you and johnny for movies or to hang out together. 

you're the one that looked forward to it. you're the one who thought of what he said over and over. and you're the one who's pushed against it, not wanting to be _that_ but also, you think you made a choice to not let him be alone in that state. you're the one who keeps saying yes to movies, the one who keeps inviting him to track meets you have, the one who keeps eagerly awaiting time spent together.

and yes, it is selfish on your part, too. you want him, in ways you cannot have, in ways that you can speak to no one else. you crave it so badly, knowing what you can't have. so you settle for snatches of intimacy, pieces of time.

x. 

sleeping with him in the same bed isn't the same as sleeping with soda. the same closeness isn't there -- and it makes your stomach do somersaults to be so close. going to sleep is harder than it should be, and your dreams are actually silent now. 

when you open your eyes, the sun is coming out. dallas is there beside you, face uncontorted by anger. he isn't asleep. you can tell at this moment that something is occupying his mind. he's looking at you in a way that you have never seen him look at you before, with such concentration that if you weren't just waking up, your ears would burn with the intensity. 

you want to say something. you want to ask him what he's thinking of, but you are afraid of what you might say in the face of this. 

of all the times to keep your mouth shut, you don't want to do that here. you want to talk in this moment as dallas moves closer to you. you want to open your mouth to ask questions, to know if he understands what he's doing, if _you_ understand what you're doing. that if this happens, you cannot go back. there is no turning back and everything you have kept so close to your heart will come spilling out no matter what. 

xi.

you forget a lot of things. you do not forget what it feels like to kiss dallas winston, in a motel in oklahoma city in the morning light. you do not forget what it feels like to kiss this man you've been circling for years now, to finally come together like this. how could you forget? why would you? daylight comes, and you want to stay here, in this moment, for as long as you can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and part two! kudos, comment, come yell at me over on tumblr, i'm @traumapeaks


End file.
